


born to sweet delight

by AstronomicalFog



Series: Carry On Countdown - 2019 [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz is pining, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2019, F/M, Gen, Pre-Book: Carry On, Simon is absolutely clueless, Watford Fifth Year, and Agatha is done with everything, as per usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronomicalFog/pseuds/AstronomicalFog
Summary: It's fifth year at Watford School of Magicks and Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove have just started dating.No one is exactly happy about it.Carry On Countdown Day 5: Carry On Prequel
Relationships: Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown - 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557403
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Agatha Wellbelove fics, Carry On Countdown 2019





	born to sweet delight

_“Every Night & every Morn_

_Some to misery are Born_

_Every Morn and every Night_

_Some are Born to sweet delight_

_Some are Born to sweet delight_

_Some are Born to Endless Night.”_

\-- “Auguries of Innocence”

William Blake

* * *

**AGATHA**

* * *

When I was eleven years old, I told my parents that I didn’t want to go to Watford. That I’d rather go to a Normal secondary school with my Normal friends, than learn to be a mage. They were horrified, of course, and I obviously didn’t get my way. I’ve been trying for four years not to be bitter about that, because if I got angry with my parents over every bad decision they made that they thought was right for me, I’d never be done being angry with them.

I’m fifteen now, and in my fifth year at Watford, and I still think I had the right decision when I was eleven. But I suppose it could be worse--I can still see Minty and all my other Normal friends when I go home for the holidays. And she isn’t the same, but I suppose I have Penny.

And Simon. Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the Saviour of the entire World of Mages.

Simon who, as of about a week and a half ago, is my boyfriend. And, really, I should be ecstatic about that, right? That alone should be enough to make up for everything that going away to Watford forced me to leave behind. Simon is the most powerful mage in the world, and he’s brave and selfless and noble and everything a fairytale hero should be. And who wouldn’t want to be loved by a hero? I know many girls (and a few boys) who would scramble to take my place.

But should I let them? I don’t know. I don’t love Simon, but I do like him. It could just be that love will come later. But I do know that Simon loves me. Or, rather he doesn’t _yet_ , but he could and he wants to. And we just started dating and Simon has done everything he’s supposed to--I can’t break up with him for that.

I also know the reason I said _yes_ to Simon when he asked me out. It’s because although I don’t know if I can love Simon the way he deserves to be loved, I believe that he deserves to be with someone who can love him with everything they are.

And if I care for Simon, and I’m the one he wants to be with, don’t I owe it to him to at least try?

* * *

A big part of the reason Simon and I got together is that my parents have been letting him stay with us over the Christmas holidays since we were eleven. As a result, my mother has been overly invested in our relationship since forever. Both of my parents adore Simon. (And not just because he’s the Chosen One and the Mage’s Heir--he’s also the perfect golden hero, remember?) Our one-month anniversary falls just a few days before the start of term break, and I know both of my parents are thrilled to have him over again, this time as my boyfriend.

I’m not. Thrilled, that is. And I don’t really think that Simon is either, which makes me feel better and worse at the same time.

As I wake up on the day we all leave for the holidays and go down to breakfast only to be greeted by a haze of Simon’s nervous magic, it’s definitely leaning towards _worse._

“Simon, take a deep breath _please._ You’re going to go off if you don’t calm down.”

Judging by the reproachful look Penelope aims my way, this wasn’t the right thing to say. Simon winces and drops his butter knife onto his plate with a loud clatter, but his magic does retreat some. I can’t stop myself from glaring at Penelope. She doesn’t even attempt to look apologetic.

“S-Sorry, Agatha,” Simon says, attempting to smile.

I look away. “It’s just my parents. You’ve met my parents before.”

“I--y-yeah, but not as _your boyfriend,”_ he blusters. “What if they decide that I’m not good enough for you?”

I know what I should say. That he’s being ridiculous--that of course my parents aren’t going to decide that they dislike him. They love him, and they’ve been waiting for us to get together for _years._

Penelope, I know, would take me not saying so as just another chance to be cross with me. And it isn’t even like disbelief is the thing holding me back--I _know_ my parents will be nothing but thrilled with Simon.

Also, the question isn’t ever going to be if he’s good enough for me. It’s always going to be the other way around. And the fact that I don’t know the answer to _that_ question for sure is bothering me a lot less than I think maybe it should.

I don’t give Penny the chance to glare at me again. I very obviously check my watch, then gather my plate and push my chair back as I stand. “It’ll be _fine_ , Simon. Now, let’s go. We’re supposed to meet my parents in twenty minutes.”

Simon nearly knocks his own chair to the floor in his attempts to follow me. There’s a snicker from across the hall, and my heart catches in my throat, because I know who it was from.

Simon is glaring, and I don’t even have to turn to imagine the look on Basilton Pitch’s face right now.

I turn anyway. And just as I thought, he isn’t glaring or snarling like Simon is. _(Snarling, honestly.)_ His face is blank, and I can’t tell what’s going on behind his eyes.

Once he sees me looking, he breaks away from his staring contest with Simon to glance at me. It’s only a glance, though--fleeting, like he can’t make himself look away from Simon for more than a second.

I don’t know why I’m disappointed. It isn’t like I want for Simon and Basilton Pitch to fight over me. (They don’t need any excuses to do that.) But right now, the two of them are so focused on each other that it’s like they’ve forgotten that everything else exists.

Basil had been spooning sugar into his tea, and now the sugar’s falling from the teaspoon onto the table because he’s forgotten that he’s holding it. And Simon has forgotten that he’s standing in the middle of the dining hall and making a scene when we’re supposed to be _meeting my parents._

With a sigh and an exasperated, “Come _on_ , Simon!”, I grab his arm and yank him forward. He jumps as he breaks from his trance, and starts blustering through an apology as he dashes after me.

Right before I go through the door of the dining hall, I glance back at Basil. He looks away as soon as my eyes find his, but he had been glaring at me.

I’m still trying to figure out what that means when I meet Simon outside on the Great Lawn. He’s got a bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, the jumper he’s wearing is bunched, and he’s breathing heavily like he ran all the way from the Weeping Tower to Mummers House to here.

Judging by how long he stood there antagonising Baz, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had to run in order to make it on time. I try not to let it bother me. I was right, before, that he won’t be able to make my parents dislike him. But based off of what _he’d_ said, I’d hoped that he would put in a bit more effort, for once.

Mum and Dad, of course, don’t care one bit. My mother steps out of the Volvo, and she’s hardly finished hugging me before she’s rushing at Simon.

“Oh _Simon_ , you look so _handsome,”_ she coos. She hugs him tight, and he’s back to looking supremely uncomfortable.

“U-um, hi, Mrs. Wellbelove,” he stutters back, and I turn away to hug Dad. (He only offers Simon a smile and claps his shoulder, and I think we’re both relieved.)

A few minutes later, my parents have stowed Simon and I’s bags in the boot, and we’re sitting side-by-side in the backseat as we head towards the motorway. My mother asks Simon a few questions about his summer, but that’s a topic he never likes to talk on. Eventually, she gives up in favour of talking to my father, leaving the two of us in silence.

Simon gets carsick when he has to sit in the back, so he’s turned his upper body determinedly towards the window. I’m relieved at the chance for quiet.

I think he can tell. He turns away from the window for just long enough to offer me his hand, and he’s smiling softly.

It’s my favourite smile of his. I’m smiling back before I even realise it, and I reach out and take his hand.

We each turn back to our respective windows, and we stay like that for the rest of the ride.

* * *

**BAZ**

* * *

_“Simon Snow._ Really? _Him?_ Why’d it have to be _him_ of all people?”

For the past twenty minutes, my dear cousin has been outlining for me in excruciating detail the absolute tragedy that is the relationship that’s sure to become Watford’s new Golden Couple. I’ve wanted to throttle him since the beginning of this adventure, of course. But since I’m disturbed, there’s a part of me that can’t help but take amusement from Dev’s rant.

“Couldn’t Agatha have chosen to fall in love with _literally anyone else?”_

Because replace _Agatha_ with _you_ , and it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself for weeks now.

I’m in love with Simon Snow. I figured it out a few miserable weeks ago, and I’d give anything to go back to the time before. The time before I realised, that is. I don’t think there was a time before I both knew him and loved him.

And isn’t _that_ the bigger tragedy?

“I don’t think that one can _choose_ who they fall in love with, Dev. That’s the whole point.”

It’s comical, almost, the way he gapes at me. He stands there for a long time before saying, “Baz… are you _defending_ _Simon Snow_ and _Agatha Wellbelove?”_

Fuck. I’d forgotten, for a moment, where I am. Who I’m with. That there’s nowhere I can be, and no one I can be with, where I won’t have to hide this.

“Of course not. But if W-Agatha could choose who she fell in love with, do you really think she’d pick _Snow?”_

Dev laughs, and just like that, everything is forgotten. “You’re right. She definitely wouldn’t. Who would?”

_Me,_ I don’t say. Even though I’d like to. Just once. Just to see what would happen.

Although I suppose it isn’t true. Simon Snow is golden and noble and deserves to be loved more than anyone. But if it had been my choice, he wouldn’t have been by me. I can’t think of anyone who would want to love or be loved by their enemy. (Other than me, of course.) As if being gay weren’t enough of a slight against my station.

Not, of course, that any of my family knows this about me. I’ve thought about telling Niall and Dev before. I probably will eventually. As I stand and listen to Dev moon over Agatha Wellbelove and throw barbs at the boy I love, I’ve rarely thought about it more.

I’m almost glad when my father comes to pull me away. If I’d been kept there much longer, I’d be liable to confess my being gay in front of my cousin and every influential member of the Families that’s at the club’s holiday party.

Glad, that is, until Father leads me away from Dev and I get a look at the expression on his face. He looks visibly disproving, which for a man who almost never makes it clear what he’s thinking, is everything.

I do an excellent job, in my own opinion, of not letting the terror I feel show on my face.

“How may I help you, Father?”

His eyes narrow. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Basilton, your conversation with your cousin.”

Something about the tone of his voice immediately sets me on edge, but I’m not sure, yet, why I’m nervous. “Oh?”

“About Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove.”

I’m still not sure where this conversation is going, but the way he says my Simon’s name makes the swirling anxiety in my gut worse.

“Yes. It is rather unfortunate that someone such as her made the poor decision to pick him,” I somehow manage to say.

But my answer seems to please my father. His stance relaxes, a little. “I agree. Doctor Wellbelove is on the Coven, so it would be beneficial to have them on our side. If we could sway Agatha Wellbelove, we might be able to convince her father. And that brings me to another concern I have for you.”

By now, I think I know what he’s going to say. It isn’t the first time he has. Like all the other times, I picture Simon Snow’s face in my mind. Only this time, I know why I’m doing it.

“You are the last living heir to the Pitch line, Basilton,” Father says. “It is important that you pass on your mother’s name. You only have three and a half years left at Watford--it’s time for you to start looking for a wife. And I would like for you to consider Agatha Wellbelove. If you marry her and unite our two lines, it would be very beneficial to our family’s cause against the Mage.”

Minus the part about marrying Snow’s girlfriend, I’ve heard this speech before. In the past, I’ve held the image of blue eyes and bronze curls in my mind and told my father that I’m too focused on schoolwork to look for a relationship. So far, he’s accepted that answer--he knows how important academics were to my mother. But with Snow’s tragic display of his pathological heterosexuality, I know that excuse won’t work now.

Just for a moment, I imagine it. Not even a moment--a split second. But I imagine giving my father a dramatic sigh and saying, _“Apologies, Father. I would, except not only am I too focused on schoolwork, but also am I flamingly homosexual and deeply in love with Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the Mage’s Heir, and the boy you have been grooming me to kill since I was eleven. Not that I have any intention of doing so, you understand.”_

What I do say is, “Of course, Father. I understand. I shall keep that in mind.”

He nods, looking like I’d done the only thing he ever bothered to consider me doing. “I shall leave you to the festivities.”

He walks away, and I watch him. Once he disappears into the crowd, I take another moment to picture the smiling face of the boy I know I can never have.

And then, with a deep breath, I plunge back into the depths.

* * *

**SIMON**

* * *

Normally, spending Christmas with the Wellbeloves is one of my favourite things. I get to spend time one-on-one with Agatha, receive gifts, eat good food, and watch as many reruns of _Doctor Who_ as I want. Watford is my home, but their house over the holidays was the first place I ever felt like someone cared for me.

I’d expected it to be even better once Agatha and I started dating. We’d get to do all the same things as before, only now I’d have an actual claim to be there. I’d really, truly, belong, instead of just playing at it the way I do with everything else in my life.

I think that the only reason it isn’t _actually_ better is because there’s something wrong with me. There must be--no one else has done anything wrong.

I was afraid that Agatha’s parents wouldn’t think I’m good enough for her, and that I might have to prove my intentions to win back their favour. As it turns out, I needn’t have worried about that--they seem happy about our relationship.

I’d expected hostility, and I’d made a list of things I could do in response to it. I did _not_ make a list of what I could do in any other circumstance. I hope that my nerves about being thrown into something I didn’t expect are a big part of what’s making this harder.

Every year, the Wellbeloves and some of their neighbours put on a travelling Christmas party. It isn’t Christmas yet, of course, but it’s close enough to that people keep popping in and out of their house to help Mrs. Wellbelove get ready. On top of the people like me that the Wellbeloves always invite into their home for the holidays, it’s a kind of organised chaos that reminds me of the homes, except that I’m warm and happy instead of cold and scared.

Over the years, I’ve met most of the neighbours, even though Agatha and I usually stay in the den for most of the party. When we arrive, I stop to give a hug to the Wellbeloves’ housekeeper, Helen, and in that time, several of them descend on me.

Most everyone seems happy to see me and while I’m sure that some of it is because of what I am, I think some of it is genuine. I get pulled away from Agatha as I hug and shake hands and for a while, I forget that I’m nervous.

“Simon, I’ve heard that you and Agatha are dating now! That’s absolutely wonderful, dear. I always knew you two were perfect together!”

At least, until that happens.

It isn’t disapproval either. Obviously. The only person I know who actually disproves is Baz, and it makes sense that he does, because he’s _Baz_ and this is something good that’s happening to _me._

No one who I actually care about has responded with anything other than support. I’d prepared for if they hadn’t, and in some ways, I almost wish that they hadn’t. I remember fighting about Agatha with Baz, and the nervous, itchy feeling I’d get when he told me I’m not good enough for her is similar to how I’m feeling now.

It doesn’t make sense. I know I should be thrilled. On the drive, I’d spent time convincing myself that being nervous was fine, because obviously it’s fine when you’re faced with people who are reacting badly. And because I didn’t know what was going to happen. Now I do, so I can’t say that. Now, I need to figure out a way to fix whatever’s wrong with me and making me see things this way.

But I don’t know what’s causing it, so I don’t know how to fix it. Instead, I do what I always do. I stop thinking about it.

It doesn’t take me very long to realise that that was a bad decision. Maybe I should have expected that it would be--I’m a shite liar, after all. Which isn’t helped by knowing that this isn’t something I should be lying about.

It takes me almost an hour before I’m able to get away from all the Wellbeloves’ neighbours. I just want to watch some _Doctor Who_ with Agatha, so I’m wandering around the house looking for her when I run into Doctor Wellbelove.

He didn’t speak all that much on the drive out here, and I’ve not seen him since then. But right now, Agatha’s mum is out with Helen and another woman, so it’s just him and me in the kitchen. I immediately want to leave, but I also don’t want to be rude.

We stand in silence for several minutes. I focus on the nearly-empty glass of water that I came in here to get. When Doctor Wellbelove suddenly clears his throat, it startles me.

He looks almost as uncomfortable as I feel, but he still says, “Simon. Would it be okay if I speak with you for a minute about my daughter?”

I think it’s the wrong reaction, but his question relaxes me. I’m expecting that now’s when he asks me about my intentions towards Agatha. If he does, we’re back on familiar ground.

My voice is steady when I reply, “Of course, sir.”

But what he does say is, again, not what I was expecting.

“I just wanted to let you know how glad I am that you and Agatha are together now. You’re a very good person, Simon, and I know you’re capable of loving my daughter the way she deserves to be loved. I just wanted to make sure you know you have my approval.”

Instantly, any semblance of calm evaporates. My chest suddenly feels like someone is standing on it. (Or like Baz has pinned me up against the wall and is crushing my sternum with his arm.) I can’t think about anything except air and how much I need to _get out._

But Doctor Wellbelove is still here, and he’s staring at me expecting an answer. I spit out something that I intend to be grateful and about going to find Agatha, but am afraid comes out closer to a jumble of nothing, and run from the room.

Instead of going to find Agatha, I race from the kitchen down the hall to the loo and throw the door open. I don’t even take the time to flick on the light before closing the door and sliding down against it.

The very first time I saw Agatha, I wanted her. She’s beautiful to the point that it doesn’t even feel real, sometimes. There was a part of me that was afraid I’d break her if I got too close, but a bigger part of me that was determined to protect her from other people who might try and do the same. I’m supposed to be the Chosen One--something like that should be the least I’ll have to do.

When Penny and her boyfriend, Micah, started dating last year, he was all she could talk about from the beginning. And being around him made her happier--she even let me go on about Baz and his plots for way more than 10 percent of our conversations, sometimes. Agatha and I have barely been dating a month, but that isn’t how I am about her, I don’t think.

But Micah left to go back to America at the end of last year. Penny hasn’t seen him for months. I see Agatha every day. It makes sense that I’d talk about her less in that case, right? Plus, it’d be weird to talk about her when she’s _right there_. And unlike with Baz, I don’t want to do so anyway to make her angry.

I’m not in love with Agatha, I don’t think. It’s definitely not like the way Penny feels about Micah. But that’s okay, right? I don’t have to fall in love right away. That hardly ever happens, anyway. And Agatha and I have been friends for years, but that’s different from being _together._ I can still _learn_ to love her.

I killed a dragon when I was eleven. Falling in love with my beautiful girlfriend should be easy in comparison.

I can do it. I _will_ do it. Because no matter what Baz or anyone else thinks, we’re meant to be together. It’s destiny.

Everyone I’ve spoken with agrees, even Agatha’s parents. That’s enough, right? Someday, if Baz or the Humdrum don’t kill me, the two of us will ride off into the sunset and have our happily ever after.

I repeat this to myself in my head until I’m finally calm enough to rise to my feet and leave the loo.

And if there’s a small part of my brain that doesn’t quite believe it, it’s easy enough to ignore.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading fics for the Carry On Countdown for years, and I'm really excited to finally participate this year. I only plan on doing a few of the days, so most of these will probably be on the longer side. That being said, I hope you enjoy!


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